Queen and Country
by EdenLake
Summary: She loved her husband. She loved her country. She loved the wardens. But somehow, she was now responsible for all three, and she could feel it slowly choking her.
1. Prologue: Andraste's Grace

Prologue: Andraste's Grace

"How do you feel?" Leliana asked, as she placed the last bough of Andraste's Grace into the mass of brown curls piled atop Elissa's head.

"Ridiculous," was the honest reply.

"Nonsense!" the bard cried, moving to adjust the exquisite necklace around the bride's neck. "You've been at war for so long, you've just forgotten how to be a lady. Which is what you are, a lady!"

Elissa smiled at her friend, but it wasn't true. She remembered full well how to be a lady. She remembered full well that she _was_ a lady, born, bred, and raised. How could she forget, especially looking at herself in the mirror now?

Everything else felt like the dream; the Blight, the Civil War, the Archdemon, it all flitted in and out of her consciousness like a particularly bad smell. The thought that she had spent two years sleeping out of doors, eating whatever they managed to kill or scrape together with what little gold they had, and alternately begging for aid against the Blight and running for their lives, seemed ridiculous to her as she woke every morning in a castle much like the one she'd grown up in, and went about the exact kind of life her parents had imagined for her.

_After all that_, she thought, _I'm basically back where I started_.

Small things reminded her of the truth. Her mother was not dressing her for her wedding. Her father would not give her away. The haunted look in her brother's once perenielly jovial eyes. The scar that ran diagonally across her right collarbone from shoulder to sternum, a gift from that crazy cult leader Kolgrim.

And, of course, the dreams.

It occurred to her, not without irony, that if Loghain hadn't had a daughter, _she _would have been the logical match for Cailan. Instead she had traipsed across Ferelden with a sheepish templar who turned out to be a royal bastard, and fell in love. And the Maker had seen fit to dump her right back into a castle anyway. Onto a throne, no less.

Not that she had any idea what she would do when she got there.

_Maker help us all_….


	2. Chapter 1: Loose Ends

Chapter 1: Loose Ends

It was a morbid business, going through the belongings of the old king to make room for the new; no wonder Alistair hadn't the stomach for it. Like so many things, the task fell to his wife only because she didn't trust it to anyone else. It was perhaps telling that, in over two years, Anora could not bring herself to do it. For the first time, Elissa felt a little sorry for her.

The letters troubled her most; the private correspondence of the king seemed something sacrosanct. Some were dull formalities of course, thank yous and well-wishings. Others were intimate—far too intimate to be entrusted to a steward or a servant. Too intimate even for the eyes of the new queen. Cailan's indiscretions…she'd heard of them before, the idle chatter of the noble class. It wasn't without precedent, as Alistair's very existence amply demonstrated. No doubt a half-dozen families of the minor gentry were at that very moment surveying their daughters with an eye toward her husband's bed. It should have bothered her more, and might have, if she thought they'd have any chance of success.

One letter in particular caught her eye. She recognized the hand, the same as a letter she'd found at Ostagar…one she'd have just as soon forgotten. This one, sadly, seemed to be in the same vein.

_Your Majesty, in the months since we last parted, I've come to regret the bluntness with which I stated my position on the matter of your heir, or rather, lack of one. Disrespecting the queen was not my intent; you know how I respect both her and her father's contributions to the nation. But the stability of Ferelden demands a crown prince, and on that account, Anora has failed in her responsibilities to you and to Ferelden. I can only entreat you to pursue another strategy. And yes, as your uncle, I would dare go so far as to offer a suggestion. You may remember, Bryce Cousland has a daughter, perhaps a bit young, but pretty enough as I understand it, who would be eminently suitable for—_

She slammed the paper down on the desk, unable to read further, her hands shaking. Thankfully, a rap at the door of her study shook her from her rage.

* * *

"Zevran!" she cried, grateful for the distraction, "it's an uncommonly good pleasure to see you right now."

The Queen's new spymaster repaid her sardonic smile and queer greeting with a short, insolent bow. How fine she looked, he thought, radiating authority from behind that massive mahogany desk. At court she took such great pains to make herself smaller next to Alistair, to melt into his side and preserve the illusion that he was in charge. Zevran liked her better like this, all easy authority and benevolent power. Benevolent to a point, he reminded himself.

"Your Majesty, I have a present for you." He snapped his fingers, and two armed elves (the Queen didn't bother asking where he got his manpower) escorted a young woman into her chambers at knifepoint. A very pregnant young woman.

"Ser Cauthrien," Zevran said, with mock formality, "I believe you've had the pleasure before."

All the frivolity had drained from Elissa's face now and she stared hard at the former knight, processing what she saw before her, comprehending what Zevran was asking her to see. Cauthrien for her part stared right back, eyes full of barely contained rage and a jaw set hard enough to snap.

"Leave us, please," she said, waiving her hand in a gesture of royal dismissal. Zevran gave her an arched eyebrow, but she nodded her assurance that she would be fine, and he closed the door behind him.

Elissa placed her fingers on her temples, still trying to wrap her head around the situation dropped unceremoniously in her lap.

"Should I even ask?" she finally broke the silence. Cauthrien said nothing. She had nothing to explain to this woman.

Elissa changed her tack. "Does Anora know?"

This was a practical question, reasonable, and almost empathetic, and it threw Cauthrien momentarily, long enough to allow, "I believe she…suspected."

Elissa nodded slowly, and stood up, quickly crossing the room toward Cauthrien, who instinctively tensed and assumed a defensive stance. Elissa rolled her eyes as she passed Cauthrien on her way to the door beyond.

"Cauthrien, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already," she scoffed. She opened the door and called for a page.

"I need to speak with the Teyrn of Highever."

* * *

Teyrn Fergus Cousland looked from his sister to the angry, pregnant woman, and back again.

"Tonight?" he asked, and Elissa looked relieved. She needn't have worried. He'd never been able to say no to her, and he wasn't about to start now that she was the queen.

"I need her out of Denerim," Elissa said, "somewhere I can keep a trusted eye on her."

"You know what they'll say, don't you, if I bring a woman with child back from Denerim with me?"

She couldn't lie to her brother. "I'm sort of hoping they will."

Cauthrien wanted to scream. She wanted to grab the sword from the Teyrn of Highever's scabbard and plunge into his royal sister's heart. This woman had killed Teyrn Loghain, her general, her love; she had killed him in cold blood, in front of his daughter, in front of his countrymen. Cauthrien had begged the warden to show mercy, and instead she had taken vengeance and then the throne.

"There will be no goodbyes, Cauthrien," Elissa said, "no packing. You'll want for nothing...both of you."

For the first time in recent memory, Cauthrien felt helpless. And that was almost worse than death.


	3. Chapter 2: Shades of Grey

Chapter 2: Shades of Grey

As they approached Cousland Castle on horseback, Nathaniel Howe marveled at his present circumstances.

_After all that,_ he thought, _I'm basically back where I started._

How many times had he traveled this exact route before, from Amaranthine to Highever? A dozen? Possibly more. He still recognized the landmarks. The giant spruce tree at the fork in the road that had been split by lightening a decade earlier. The wooden bridge over the stream that had been Delilah's favorite spot for Cousland Castle hide-and-seek.

Teyrn Cousland had even offered to squire Nathaniel at Highever, but the Arl had politely declined. Now Nathaniel understood why.

Elissa had been quiet for a while, and Nathaniel wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

"Now that we're almost to the castle, and I can't well turn around and go back to Amaranthine in a righteous fury, would you mind telling what we're doing here?" he asked, half-playfully.

But her face was grave. "We need to do a Joining."

Now Nathaniel was concerned. "Whose Joining?"

"You had better just see for yourself."

* * *

"She's having nightmares, but she's alive," Fergus reported, coming out of Cauthrien's room.

"She'll get used to them; we all do," Nathaniel replied.

Fergus pointedly ignored him. Despite Elissa's assurances and entreaties, the Teyrn did not share the trust his sister placed in a Howe. Nathaniel smarted, but found it hard to blame the man completely. Cousland Castle was an empty shell of the happy place he remembered, and that was his father's fault.

The babe in Elissa's arms started to mewl, and she bounced him and pressed him to her chest, attempting to comfort him, to no avail. Fergus held out his arms and she passed the swaddled bundle on; in her brother's arms, the child quieted. Fergus had always been good with children.

"Are you alright with this?" she asked him, honestly worried that she had finally asked too much of him.

He looked fondly at the child in his arms. "I can think of worse things than having a little boy running around this place."

She smiled, relieved.

Fergus stood and went to Cauthrien's door with the babe. "I should take him to her. Let him be with her, while he can."

The sadness in her brother's voice nearly choked Elissa, reminding her painfully of what exactly she was doing. As the door closed behind Fergus, she turned to Nathaniel, hopeful that he wouldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Could you manage here for a while? I need to go for a walk."

Without waiting for the answer, she bolted down the hallway and out of sight.


	4. Chapter 3: Screaming at the Sea

Chapter 3: Screaming at the Sea

When Nathaniel finally found her on the bridge, it was hard not to laugh.

The Hero of Ferelden, the Warden Commander, the Queen, sat at the edge of a rickety bridge over the stream, dark hair hanging loose out of its normal neat braiding, bare legs dangling so that her toes almost touched the water. She looked ludicrously young. This was the Elissa that he had remembered and thought lost, the object of Thomas's hopeless crush, the big sister Delilah never had, Bryce Cousland's little spitfire.

It was hard not to laugh. So he did laugh.

She turned to him with sad eyes that brightened a little, he thought, upon seeing him.

"His Grace is looking for you," he said. "Cauthrien may be well enough for us to leave for Amaranthine in the morning."

"The sooner the better, I suppose" she replied, patting bridge next to her, an invitation to sit down. He complied, dangling his own legs over the edge, the tips of his boots cutting a wake in the clear water below.

"Wouldn't it be funny," she said absently, "if, after all this, Loghain Mac Tir's child inherited Highever?"

He stared out at the water, thinking on that for a moment, and broke into a bemused smile. When he looked at her, though, he saw tears running down her cheeks.

"Is this the kind of person I am, Nathaniel?" she sobbed. "Who holds children hostage to keep their parents in line?"

He put a hand on her shoulder. "You _must_ do this," he said firmly. "You cannot trust her. She was loyal to Loghain, she loved him, and you killed him. You can't just send her off with a horse and a bag of sovereigns and expect everything to be okay."

She gave him a sad smile. "I killed your father," she reminded him softly, "and you're loyal to me, aren't you?"

He shook his head, "Only because you conscripted me. You forced my hand, and _then_ you earned my loyalty. You're doing the only thing you can here. And anyway, what kind of a life do you think that child would have, the bastard son of the wrong side of the civil war? You're giving him a life, a good one."

"I bet she's terrified for him," she sighed, "I would be."

"You would never hurt that child, not in a million years. You know that."

"She doesn't know that."

He shrugged. "So she doesn't know. It doesn't change you." He paused, and then, "You're doing the best you can."

She looked up at him again, grateful for that. He tried not to think about how she smelled like flowers. He tried not to think about her hair and her eyes. He tried, but it was hard.

She made it harder by suddenly clasping his hand in both of hers and turning to face him, and he prayed that she could not feel the jolt in his body, the sudden, simultaneous, and contradictory urges to grab her close and to flee as fast as humanly possible. He split the difference and froze, unable to move.

"Promise me one thing, Nathaniel?"

Every possible response that came to his mind could have come out of his mouth dangerously wrong, so with an herculean effort he held back and merely nodded.

"If I ever become a tyrant, promise me you'll go back to trying to assassinate me?" She said it with an ironic smile, but there was such dutiful earnestness in her voice that it broke his heart. She would really, honestly, rather die than become what she hated, and this realization finally broke his resolve.

His lips were on hers for less than a moment, the time it took her to realize what was happening, and she pushed him back with both hands, eyes wide in shock. Her expression was unreadable as she got to her feet and backed slowly away from him, walking backwards as if to undo everything that had just been done, to erase it and return to the beginning.

When she was far enough away she turned tail and ran toward the castle, while Nathaniel remained, rooted on the spot, unable to move.

She was married. She was his commander. She was his queen. What he had done could be considered treason. Yet at that moment, all he could think of to fear was losing her friendship.

* * *

Elissa didn't stop at the castle. She kept running, then walking, then trudging up and up and up the hills of Highever, heedless of the rocks and sticks that punctured and bruised her bare feet as she marched on stubbornly forward. She walked until the soles of her feet were red and blistered. She walked until her calves went numb from the strain. She walked until she reached the cliffs overlooking the ocean, where she and Fergus had spent hours as children, climbing the steep rocks and diving into the sea, each daring the other to climb higher and dive farther.

Now the sea arrested her desolate march, and she cursed it. She stood at the edge of the cliffs in her bare feet and loose hair and screamed at the top of her lungs toward the horizon. She expected it to answer with an equally enraged echo, but the mist and the water swallowed her voice whole, making her feel small and inconsequential. She found the oddest touch of comfort in it.

She loved her husband. She loved her country. She loved the wardens. But somehow, she was now responsible for all three, and she could feel it slowly choking her, squeezing out everything left from the girl who had scampered barefoot over these cliffs what seemed like an age ago, and replacing her with someone else, a stranger. She had never felt so lonely. And none of the people she loved could help. Fergus was a broken, haunted man. Nathaniel was in love with her. Eamon was a fair-weather friend. Not a single person in Ferelden could possibly understand.

Then realization dawned on her, and stood and walked back to the castle. She had to get back to Denerim.


	5. Chapter 4: Friends and Enemies

Chapter 4: Friends and Enemies of Friends

Alistair was waiting for her at the palace gates, grinning from ear to ear. Elissa practically leapt from the carriage and bounded up the steps to meet his outstretched arms. He picked her up and swung her around, and laid a kiss on her cheek that would have been much less chaste were it not observed by a few hundred cheering citizens of Denerim.

"Let's go back to my rooms immediately," he whispered in her ear, "let them unpack in yours."

She peered up at him with guilty eyes. "Can you wait a few more hours, darling? There's something I have to do, and then I'm yours for as long as you want me."

He was disappointed, but something in her eyes told him this was important, so he nodded. "I'm holding you to that!"

He clasped his hand over hers, and together they walked to the door of their home.

* * *

Elissa sorted the letters carefully, removing anything that might be painful or scandalous. When she got to Eamon's letter, she considered tossing it into the fire, but something told her to hang on to it, so she placed it gingerly in her desk drawer.

Yet again, she was interrupted by a rap on the door.

"Eamon," she said, evenly, as the door opened to reveal the Lord Chancellor.

_How easily she steps into this role,_ Eamon mused, _calling me by my given name, underlining her authority_. Alistair had thus far been unable to drop the honorifics.

He entered and bowed. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Your Highness."

"Not at all, I was just,...tying up some loose ends."

"How fortuitous, since I have another loose end I believe we need to discuss again."

Her face grew stern. "No, Eamon."

"Your Highness?"

"The king has spoken on the matter. There is nothing to discuss. He wishes her to live."

"He wishes not to have to kill her. I cannot agree."

"He is your king; you must agree."

Eamon was silent, his frustration all but palpable. Elissa broke the silence.

"You can't make a habit of this, Eamon."

"Of what, Your Highness?"

"Of coming to me when when you want to change his mind."

"We are both counselors to the sovereign. Our job is to counsel."

"Then counsel _him_, Eamon."

"Your Highness-"

"Can't you see this undermines him?" she interrupted. "More than his illegitimacy, more than Anora's continued existence, this," she said, pointing between herself and the Arl, "undermines his authority."

She was silent for a moment, and then, more quietly, "I won't become her, Eamon."

"Your Highness, you could never-"

"Oh, but I could, Eamon, I surely could. And we've seen where that leads. I don't want to repeat the mistakes we set out to correct."

Eamon sighed. "There is another matter, in much the same vein, that I had hoped to discuss with Your Highness, one that concerns you particularly."

Her eyebrows rose in suspicion now. "Oh?"

"It's come to my attention that Delilah Howe is still living in Amaranthine…."

Elissa could take no more. "Absolutely not!" she cried, her voice higher and more girlish than she would have wished, but the instinct to protect Delilah Howe came from a place much older than the Blight and the war, a place she was grateful to find still inside her after all.

"Your Highness, I understand that Nathaniel Howe has proven his loyalty. He was in the Free Marches for the whole of the war after all. But Delilah Howe was here, in her father's house, at his side, while he-"

"He was her _father_," Elissa almost hissed. "Enough," she said firmly. "The King is waiting for me and I have much to do. Please excuse me, Eamon. We won't be speaking of this again."

She strode past a flabbergasted Lord Chancellor toward the door, before turning on her heel to face him.

"Eamon," she began slowly, careful to choose her words , "I wonder, what happens to me if I turn out to be as disappointing as Anora?"

"Your Highness?"

"How long before you to 'counsel' Alistair to put me aside?"

Eamon looked about to protest, but she turned and left without waiting for an answer.


	6. Epilogue: The Two Queens of Ferelden

Epilogue: Two Queens of Ferelden

They stood face-to-face, in a bare and musty room at the top of a tower, for the first time: the two queens of Ferelden.

"I wanted you to have these," Elissa said. "They were Cailan's."

Anora, visibly stunned, took the bundle of papers into her hands. She leafed slowly through them, utterly speechless for the first time since Elissa had known her.

"There were also some other things from your rooms, furnishings and books, that I thought you'd want. The workmen will be bringing them up over the next few days."

"Why are you doing this?" Anora asked. "Why now? I had thought to be executed by this point."

"Is it so hard to believe that I of all people would be wary of the precedent set by your execution?"

"So it's all self-preservation, then?"

Elissa shrugged. "I'd just as soon not remind the people of the civil war if I don't have to. But mostly it's self-preservation, yes."

"Yes but why are you here? You didn't have to bring these yourself."

"You think I should have entrusted them to a servant?" Elissa asked with an arched eyebrow.

"You could have sent Eamon, or that elven fellow who follows you about like a smitten puppy. Why bring them yourself?"

Elissa considered this for a moment, before startling Anora by saying, "Eamon wants me to execute Delilah Howe."

"….And me," Anora surmised.

"And you," was the casual reply. Elissa walked over to the tiny slit of a window and gazed out over the bleak tower yard.

"We played together as children," she sighed, "and Eamon would have me see her hanged,"

"Why are you telling me this?" Anora asked.

"I suppose I was curious as to what you would do."

"I would do what was best for Ferelden, Your Highness," Anora sneered.

If Elissa took note of Anora's tone, she pretended not to. "And what if it isn't best for Ferelden? What if it's just best for me?"

"You don't think those are the same thing?"

"No, I don't," was Elissa's matter-of-fact reply. "Have you ever been to Orzammar?" she continued.

"No," Anora replied, still unsure of what to make of the situation. "Cailan went once with his father. When he came back, all he could talk about was the Proving. He called it 'glorious.'"

This brought a brief smile to Elissa's lips. "It's a beautiful place, and terrible. Everything is supposedly about honor and loyalty, but it ends up being about status and vengeance. People poisoning their own relatives; brothers framing each other for patricide; casteless concubines jockeying for position; that is not what I want for Ferelden.

"Then don't do it!" Anora snapped. "You're the queen! Buck up and make a decision!"

For once, Anora feared she had gone too far. Her life, after all, was essentially in this woman's hands. But Elissa merely furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in thought.

"I should go," she said, seemingly resolved on something, "the King is waiting for me."

She was at the door when Anora's voice startled her.

"Elissa!"

She turned abruptly to face Anora, more out of surprise than anything else, but Anora mistook it for ire.

"Your Highness," Anora corrected herself, with a visible effort. "do not make an enemy of Eamon."

Elissa waited for more, but Anora merely held her head high, letting the new queen take in this admonition. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Elissa nodded her head in acknowledgement. A beat of understanding, not the first, and certainly not the last, passed between the two queens of Ferelden.


End file.
